


Finding Anders

by vivisextion



Series: Ar lath'an: This Place of Love [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anders Gets A Happy Ending, Anders Gets His Cat Back, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Biting, Bondage, Bruises, Choking, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fix-It, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Love Bites, M/M, Masochism, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, mouth fingering, rough anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-06 17:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: alternative title: Saving Private AndersDespite what he thinks, the Wardens haven't forgotten about Anders. Particularly one dark-haired rogue.The Warden-Commander had never given up on him. Nathaniel Howe had never given up on him. With the help of Carver Hawke, they're determined to get their comrade back.Probably the only fic in this fandom, or any, to have citations in the footnotes.[Smut is in chapter 5!]





	1. Act I: Vigil's Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the Nathaniel Howe quest in Act III of Dragon Age 2. Inspired by the fact that my Warden-Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, would have NEVER abandoned his FRIEND Anders - before, during AND after the events of Dragon Age 2.
> 
> Filed according to when the events happen during the 3 Acts of Dragon Age 2.

“From the Free Marches, did you say?” Captain Garavel asked, as he waited with Seneschal Varel by the gates of Vigil’s Keep for their new recruit.

The seneschal nodded. “Yes, but he’s a Ferelden native. Fled to Kirkwall during the Blight.”

Just then, a small gang of Wardens came marching up the path, all in their usual blues and greys, except one dark-haired young man.

“Stroud,” greeted the seneschal, as he shook hands with the mustachioed Orlesian Warden. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Varel. This is our newest recruit, Carver Hawke.” Stroud clapped the young man on the shoulder as Carver stepped forward.

“Welcome back to Ferelden, young man,” the seneschal said. “I will take you to the Warden-Commander at once.”

“I’ll take this lot to the mess hall,” the captain of the guard added. “They look dead on their feet. Drink, Stroud?”

“Lead the way,” Stroud agreed.

* * *

As they walked towards the Warden-Commander’s office, Carver gazed around, taking in the massive fortress, bustling with activity. It was good to be back in Ferelden, even if Lothering had been blighted over. But it was hard not to feel like a boy on his first day at a new school. So much had happened in a short space of time, and now he being taken to meet the Commander of the Grey, the Hero of Ferelden. It was all quite overwhelming.

“He’s a good man, our Commander,” the seneschal informed him, as though sensing his state of mind. “Runs a tight ship, but easy enough to get along with. You’ll see.”

Varel rapped his knuckles on a large wooden door, and after hearing a ‘Come in!’, pushed it open. They entered the room to find two men - an imposing, dark-haired man with a hooked nose, leaning over some maps, and a slender, silver-haired Dalish elf, evident by the markings on his face, sitting on the edge of a large mahogany desk. Both were in rogue’s leathers, with impressive longbows at their sides.

“Commander, may I present Carver Hawke, our newest recruit.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, Commander,” Carver said, addressing the dark-haired man. The rogue, with the air of a man who did this about five times a day, jabbed a thumb toward the Dalish elf beside him.

“I ought to start wearing fancier armour than you, Nathaniel.” The elf was grinning toothily. “Perhaps then people would be able to tell.”

Carver’s eyes went wide with surprise, then mortification, as he realised his error. “I - I apologise, Commander.”

“It happens all the time,” the elf said, waving his hands in a dismissive fashion. He spoke with a musical lilt to his words, as was the way among his people. “I am Warden-Commander Mahariel. This is my second, Nathaniel Howe.”

Carver looked over at the rogue he’d assumed was the Warden-Commander, who gave him a curt nod back, and made a mental note to re-examine his personal biases. It was a good thing Garrett wasn’t here to witness that. That would have been a month’s worth of teasing, at least.

The elf smiled at the seneschal. “Thank you, Varel. That will be all.” Varel bowed, and left the room.

“Sit, Carver Hawke, and tell me how you came to be here.” The Commander gestured to a seat before his desk. Carver sank into it, grateful for the change in conversation topic. The elf rested in a high-backed leather chair opposite him, while his sullen companion leaned against the wall behind him.

“My older brother and I joined these two mad dwarves in an expedition into the Deep Roads for treasure. We found this Primeval Thaig, but I contracted the Taint down there. Luckily, we ran into Stroud and his Grey Wardens, and they put me through the Joining to save my life.”

Commander Mahariel looked sympathetic as he said, “A similar thing happened to me, too. It will be difficult at first, but you’re not alone.”

For the first time in a long time, since this whole whirlwind of events had begun, Carver smiled. “Thank you, Commander.”

But the rogue beside them was frowning. Something troubled him. Nathaniel spoke for the first time, his voice low and gravelly.

“You were able to locate the Grey Wardens who just happened to be in that part of the Deep Roads, at the same time you were? That’s quite the coincidence.”

“My brother had obtained maps of the thaig from an apostate in Darktown. There were rumours that he’d been a Grey Warden before. He came with us into the Deep Roads, and he was the one who suggested looking for them when we found out I had the Taint. He told us he’d gotten the maps from Stroud.” Carver’s brow furrowed as he attempted to remember the conversation, but he’d been dying at the time, so it was a little difficult. He noticed the Warden-Commander and his second were looking at one another - one worried, the other suspicious.

“Carver,” Commander Mahariel said carefully, fixing his intent gaze on the new recruit, “do you know this apostate’s name?”

Carver nodded. “Said his name was Anders.”

Both men stared at him in disbelief. “Anders?” The Warden-Commander repeated. “Blonde? Scruffy beard? Northern Ferelden accent?”

“That’s the mage,” confirmed Carver. “Although his accent was a little more posh.”

“No,” breathed the dark-haired rogue. “It can’t be.”

Then the elf turned back to Carver, and in a soft, yet unmistakably commanding tone, said, “Carver, could you tell us about Anders?”

As much as he wanted to obey his Commander, a small, niggling part of him asked, “Why?” True, he had not been fond of the apostate, but he didn’t want to bring unnecessary trouble on him.

Commander Mahariel sighed heavily. “A few months ago, Anders and several other Wardens never came back after a mission. Their last known location was a forest, south of Amaranthine. We sent out a search party, when they didn’t return. All we found there were rotting bodies, torn limb from limb, both Templars and Wardens, and a clearing of charred tree stumps.”

Carver was taken aback. Had the apostate done that?

“We thought he was dead,” Nathaniel ground out. The frown still hadn’t left his face, though it had deepened considerably. “Evidently not, if he’s traipsing around the Deep Roads.”

“We never found his body,” the Commander reminded his second. “So we never gave up looking for him.”

“What’s he even doing down there?” the rogue muttered, arms crossed over his chest. “He hated the Deep Roads.”

Carver snorted. “My brother can be quite persuasive.”

“Anything you can tell us could help.” The Dalish elf met Carver’s brown eyes with cloud-grey ones. “We just want to bring him home, Carver.”

Carver didn’t think Anders would be capable of such a heinous thing. Sure, mages were dangerous, but then...

“It is possible he was responsible for the massacre, Commander.”

The two senior Wardens stared at him in shock, as he described how Anders had glowed blue in anger when they’d discovered his clinic in Darktown, how he’d told Garrett about sharing a body with Justice, and how Justice had taken over that night in the Chantry when they’d discovered his Tranquil friend, destroying all those Templars.

“And then his eyes were burning, and his skin started cracking in places, like he was about to burst. He took down about half a dozen Templars on his own.” Carver decided not to mention that he and his brother had helped take down the other half a dozen.

“That’s why he ran,” Commander Mahariel whispered, staring with eyes round and sad. “Oh, Anders.”

“Possessed by Justice. Well, that explains the accent,” muttered Nathaniel, cursing under his breath. “What have you done, you blasted mage?”

“He may have been responsible. We don’t know the whole story.” The Commander stood, looking more weary than when their conversation had begun. “The Creators have sent you to us at just the right time, Carver Hawke. You have given us answers we have been seeking for quite a while now. Thank you.”

Nathaniel rose from his seat too, taking his longbow with him and motioning at Carver to follow. “Come. I’ll take you to the living quarters.”

Commander Mahariel gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen in days. “I hope you find Vigil’s Keep to be your new home.”

“I hope so too, Commander,” replied Carver.

The Dalish elf nodded to his second. “Report back here once you’re done. We have much to discuss.”

Carver saw the two share a knowing look, before he was ushered out of the Warden-Commander’s office, unsure if he had done the right thing.

* * *

“I want to sail to the Free Marches right now as much as you do, Nathaniel.” The Warden-Commander sighed, while his second-in-command paced around his quarters like a furious mabari. “But Weisshaupt would start asking questions if we left our posts. Ferelden is still recovering from the Blight, and there is the Thaw-”

“Weisshaupt be damned! I would go myself.” Nathaniel Howe spat.

“If only it were that simple.” The Dalish elf sighed, burying his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. “One wrong move, and the Templars will snatch him from under our nose.”

The rogue swore, and colourfully. “The Kirkwall Templars are a nightmare, too, from what I’ve heard. Knight-Commander Meredith, in particular.”

A sudden ray of inspiration struck the elf. “The boy… he mentioned that expedition into the Deep Road,” suggested the Commander, his words tentative. “There was a darkspawn presence, or he would not have contracted the Taint. And as Grey Wardens, is it not our duty to investigate such presences during the Thaw?” He peeked through his fingers, and saw a tiny seedling of hope sprout inside his second, as the anger faded from his face.

“Yes,” the rogue muttered. “Yes, it is.”

“Carver could lead us to this Primeval Thaig. Of course, he’d need a senior Grey Warden to accompany him.” Commander Mahariel looked up at this second. “You’re familiar with the Free Marches, are you not, Nathaniel?” continued the elf, in an airy tone.

“I am indeed,” agreed the rogue, nodding.

And there it was - a ready-made excuse for them to be in Kirkwall. Of course, the First Warden might just commission the local Wardens like Stroud and his people to investigate the thaig, but they had an advantage: Carver.

“We could suggest it as a joint mission with Stroud’s unit,” said the Commander, thinking out loud. “Since they operate within the area.”

“Do you think Weisshaupt would buy that?” Nathaniel asked, looking a shade more optimistic.

“I believe the Primeval Thaig would be of great interest to the First Warden. And if Weisshaupt won’t fund the expedition, we will.” The Dalish elf stood, touching a comforting hand to the taller man’s shoulder. “We can only try, my friend. But we will bring him home. No matter how long it takes.”

Nathaniel patted the elf’s bow-calloused hand with his own, though that sensation of creeping despair in the pit of his stomach still lingered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Grey Wardens call the recovery that occurs after a Blight the Thaw. ](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Blight) Surviving Grey Wardens strive to catch surviving darkspawn before they can cause any harm or go back underground—referring to this as the Thaw Hunt.


	2. Act II: Vigil's Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs after the Legacy DLC and references events within.

“Oh, good. Another talking darkspawn?”

Nathaniel Howe scowled, as Carver Hawke delivered his report about the encounter with Corypheus. He’d met with the Commander as soon as he’d set foot back in Vigil’s Keep, describing how he and his elder brother had been lured to the prison in the Vimmark Mountains by one of Stroud’s senior Wardens.

“Not just another talking darkspawn - _the_ talking darkspawn.” The Warden-Commander’s expression was grim. Corypheus made the Architect seem like a kindly next door neighbour, the sort you could borrow sugar from. “And I take is Janeka is no more?”

“Regrettably so, Commander.” Carver bowed his head. “Stroud debriefed me before I returned.”

“It was for the best, really.” The Dalish elf sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Any sign of Anders?”

“Still part of the mage underground, according to Garrett. My brother brought the apostate with us into the prison, actually. Had a rather undesirable effect on him.” Carver had heard the alluring song of darkspawn and fought it off well enough, but the mage had struggled much harder to stay sane. “Being a Warden, he heard Corypheus calling through the Taint, but it seemed to affect him much more than it did me.”

“He’s had the Taint longer.” Nathaniel Howe had his customary frown about his mouth, as he mulled over Carver’s information. “Not to mention a passenger from the Fade.”

“Well, his ‘passenger’ broke through, once all those voices got too loud.” Carver’s expression soured at the memory of Justice’s fiery blue gaze, cracking through Anders’ skin, threatening to set them all ablaze. “Garrett and I had to fight off the shades he summoned while that damned mage turned on us. Eventually, we subdued him and he came to his senses.”

“Well,” sighed the Warden-Commander. “If anything, this will convince the First Warden to commission that expedition further into the Deep Roads. The last thing we want is a repeat of Amaranthine.” Commander Mahariel gave Carver a meaningful look. “You’ve had experience with the Primeval Thaig, Carver. Would you be willing to lead an expedition back down there?”

A whole expedition on his own? He had been a Warden for three years now, but this was the first time he’d been asked to lead a whole party. The concern must have shown on his face, for Commander Mahariel tilted his head to peer at the young man.

“You seem unsure.”

“I was… wondering if I was ready, Commander.”

“I have faith in you, Carver Hawke. You’ve really found your feet here.”

There was a hint of pride in his smile, at the Dalish elf gazed at the young man before him. Carver had settled quite happily into being a Grey Warden, and he’d thrived during the last few years at the Keep. Their raw recruit had turned into a seasoned warrior, always striving to prove himself. Carver was at home here. It felt right. It was his calling, his purpose.

“Besides,” the Commander continued, “Nathaniel will be accompanying you. Never fear.” The rogue gave him a reassuring nod.

Carver’s expression was set with determination as he made his decision. “Bartrand had the maps last. I can deal with him,” the younger Hawke declared.

“Good man yourself.” The Dalish Commander nodded his approval. “Contacting your elder brother or his dwarf companion might be a little risky - the less people who know, the better.” It would be best not to draw unnecessary attention to their runaway mage, who unfortunately had quite prominent friends in Kirkwall. The elf rose from his chair. “Dismissed.”

Carver stood, thanking his Commander before he exited the office, a well of conflicting emotions in his chest. They could wait, however. For now, a hot meal and a shower were in order.

* * *

_Ma vhenan,_

_I have a favour to ask. In your direction lies a particular mage. You remember, the saucy one. You may cross paths with him, so keep an eye out. Rest assured, you will be rewarded for your efforts._

_Return home directly, my love. When you do, an entire herd of halla will not be able to drag us apart._

_May Mythal protect you, and Ghilan’nain guide you safely back to me._

_Ar lath ma,_

_M_

* * *

_Aneth ara, lethallin._

_Seneschal Varel tells me you must travel to Kirkwall soon, to address the plight of our nation’s refugees there. I hear you are to butt heads with Knight-Commander Meredith - Elgar’nan grant you strength, my friend._

_I hear also that you may meet with the Champion of Kirkwall. I must ask a favour of you. If you do encounter him, be on the lookout for a certain blonde mage. I am certain you will recognise him, for he made quite an impression on my first day as Warden-Commander._

_I will explain everything when I next visit the Royal Palace. And I will bring with me a few bottles of the West Hill brandy in the Keep’s wine cellar, since you are so partial to it._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Mahariel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mythal is the Protector and All-Mother,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Mythal) and the Dalish invoke Mythal's name when they require protection.
> 
> [Ghilan'nan is the goddess of guides and navigation,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Ghilan%27nain) and she is invoked when the Dalish wish to travel quickly.
> 
> [This is the West Hill brandy mentioned,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/West_Hill_Brandy) and it can be found in the Wine Cellar in the Basement of Vigil's Keep.


	3. Act III: The Deep Roads

_Greetings from Kirkwall!_

_Your rare bird has been sighted. He nests with the Champion of this city, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting. You will be happy to know that by our efforts combined, Kirkwall is now free of Crows. For now, at least._

_Expect me soon, my sweet. Your bed shall be our bed once again, and I will be more than happy to fulfil my duty as your husband therein. That very evening, perhaps. As many times as you wish. All night long, even, if you desire._

_Yours always,_

_Z_

* * *

_Dear Theron,_

_You’ll never guess who I’ve just spotted in Kirkwall - that apostate you conscripted, first day on the job! You were right. There I was, getting berated by their Knight-Commander - let’s just say she bears more than a passing resemblance to a mabari - and there he was, with the Champion of Kirkwall!_

_He (the mage, not the Champion) asked if I’d been a Grey Warden once. “That’s the rumour,” I said. Then I recognised him, and asked the same of him. Cheeky sod repeated what I’d said back to me! I guess we get around, don’t we, us Wardens?_

_See you in Denerim when I get back! I’ve got a case of Agreggio Pavali with our names on it, Warden stamina be damned. Makes getting drunk so much more expensive, doesn’t it?_

_Your friend,_

_Alistair_

* * *

The problem with planning an expedition into the Deep Roads was that you actually had to go on an expedition into the Deep Roads, Nathaniel Howe lamented. Weisshaupt had heard Commander Mahariel’s suggestion to launch an expedition to retrace the elder Hawke’s steps, further into the Deep Roads than even the dwarves had thought possible. However, the First Warden had only ordered the investigation once the whole Corypheus mess had been resolved, and that had taken an interminable amount of time. At least it’d finally gotten them to Kirkwall under legitimate circumstances. And on Weisshaupt’s copper, no less.

Now, however, their expedition was most definitely going tits up. There were far more darkspawn than anticipated, even though the way should have been clear. And now they’d lost their only dwarf somewhere. Nathaniel cursed, plunging an arrow deep into a genlock’s throat with his ancestral longbow and impeccable aim.

“I knew we should have brought Oghren.”

“That’s a first!” Beside him, Carver scoffed as he cleaved a hurlock’s skull in half with his favourite greatsword. “I suppose the smell alone would fend them off.”

Nathaniel chuckled, despite everything.

* * *

Anders knew who she was, even before she’d begun speaking to Hawke.

They’d met once in passing, on Warden business in Amaranthine with the Commander. But there was no mistaking her - that same dark hair, those grey eyes. And then she’d said as much.

“And my poor brother is with them - Nathaniel Howe!”

It was only by the grace of the Maker that he was able to summon up a witty retort that covered up his shock. Nathaniel Howe? In the Free Marches? It sounded like Warden business, according to Delilah.

“Well, put me in a dress and call me a templar. How is the old boy doing?”

“He’s missing, serah. Haven’t you been listening?” Nathaniel’s sister answered testily.

Well, so much for that.

“I’m not worried about Nathaniel,” Anders said, trying to convince himself. “He’s crawled out of worse places alive.” And he would know. They’d been in those places together, fighting back to back.

Hawke turned to fix Anders with a look of curiosity. “I take it you and Nathaniel have some history.”

“Certainly. We were in the Wardens together in Amaranthine,” Anders told Hawke, in the greatest understatement of that Age.

“I know you!” Delilah piped up, her tone almost accusatory. “I’ve got your cat!”

Anders blinked, stunned. “You - you’ve got Ser Pounce-A-Lot? How?”

“Nathaniel told us Pounce been living at the Keep, but that his mage friend had to give him up because it was a dangerous job. He asked if we’d like to take him in. My son adores that cat.”

Anders smiled, a blossom of relief in his heart. “Well. At least he’s found a good home.”

And of course, Hawke, ever the do-gooder, could not say no to the distraught woman asking him to find her brother in the Deep Roads. Anders insisted on coming along, and fortunately, Hawke did not ask too many questions. After all, he’d been useful the last time.

They left at once, given the urgency of the situation, which suited Anders just fine. He didn’t think he could stomach being left alone with his own thoughts. Action seemed better. Something to do. Darkspawn to kill. Just like old times.

 _Please be all right, Nate,_ Anders thought, as Hawke led them out of the city.

As Delilah watched them go, she sighed, hoping her brother knew what he was getting himself into. It had been quite uncharacteristic of Nathaniel, who had come to her, pleading for her to do him just this one favour. Warden business, he’d said, tight-lipped as usual. Delilah had agreed, since she’d been in the city with her son, visiting distant relatives. But she wasn’t stupid. That mage Warden from Amaranthine turning up couldn’t have been a coincidence. Could it?

Oh, well. She’d played her part in it now. “A fool’s errand,” Delilah repeated to herself, shaking her head as she walked off.

* * *

It was just Nathaniel, now. Fortunately, the hordes of darkspawn were thinning, just stragglers, and he was still in good shape. He was down to his last few arrows, however, and his final health poultice.

Another arrow found its mark in a hurlock’s eye socket. Then, he heard more footsteps behind him - human ones - as he yanked his arrow out of the darkspawn's skull.

“Nathaniel Howe?”

Nathaniel turned, and saw a group of people approaching him. The one who'd spoken was a well-built man - a mage, dressed in fine armour. There was only one other person who would know the location of this thaig apart from the Wardens. 

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, aren’t you?” Nathaniel heaved a sigh of relief. “And… Anders!”

And there he was, their reason for coming to Kirkwall, for launching this foolhardy mission in the first place. The air he breathed felt thicker than was usual for the Deep Roads. Maker’s breath, they’d actually done it. He could have wept with joy, if it was something a Howe did.

The mage gave him a weak smile. “Making friends as always, I see.”

It was easiest just to resort to humour. The long, difficult conversations could wait for later. Still, Nathaniel could not help but grin his happiness. “There’s no escaping you, it seems.”

And it was true. That had been decided, years ago.

Anders shrugged, his lips quirking up even further. “I’m special that way.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Nathaniel joked, as his heart lightened from a burden he’d carried for nearly a decade.

He answered the elder Hawke’s questions as diplomatically as he could. Their cover story was a convincing one. Hawke and his crew, even Anders, seemed to buy it, even if he'd had to sidestep an awkward question or two from Varric Tethras about Bartrand. But there were more troubling matters at hand, like recovering the other Wardens that had come down here with him. Thank the Maker, or the Stone, for they’d found Temmerin still alive. They pressed onwards, searching for survivors, when -

“Carver?”

“Well, just like old times.” Carver actually gave his older brother a fond smile. He and Nathaniel had gotten separated, but the younger Warden had held his own, and appeared relatively unharmed. “Still coming to the rescue after all these years? I have it under control, thanks.”

“Evidently,” Garrett observed, gazing around at the corpses of darkspawn that littered the ground around his younger sibling. Carver hadn’t seen his brother since that chance encounter during the Qunari invasion, but he couldn’t help Garrett then. They’d been on their way to investigate the Corypheus matter, tying up loose ends. He’d been sent as part of the clean-up crew, purely by virtue of his lineage and experience with the prison.

While the two Hawkes enjoyed their brief reunion, Nathaniel drew closer to the mage.

“Anders, I -”

“Not here, lo -” Anders gave an awkward cough. “- Nathaniel. When we reach topside, look for the lit lantern in Darktown. We can talk more freely in my clinic,” the mage hissed under his breath, careful not to let the nosy dwarf with the crossbow hear him.

Nathaniel gritted his teeth and sighed. What was another day, compared to nearly seven years of waiting?

“All right,” conceded Nate, with great reluctance. “Andraste’s tits, it’s good to see you again.”

“Nathaniel Howe!” The mage looked mock-offended, clutching a hand to his chest. “Such language!”

The archer laughed a deep belly laugh, something he hadn’t done in years, clapping a hand to the mage’s shoulder, who started giggling too. Anders always could make him laugh, until tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Teagan mentions the Hero of Ferelden is in Denerim in Act III,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJcifP2gaFU) hence why the Warden-Commander and Alistair mention visiting the Royal Palace in Denerim in their letters.
> 
> [Agreggio Pavali is the wine Fenris is drinking in his mansion,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zKji6hUATI) mentioned during the cutscene from Fenris Recruited.
> 
> [The bow Nathaniel is using is the Howe Bow](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Howe_Bow_\(gift\)), found in the Keep during Awakening.
> 
> [The Grey Wardens forced Anders to leave Ser Pounce-a-lot with a friend in Amaranthine.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Ser_Pounce-a-lot) In this universe, Delilah is that person, considering Anders doesn't have any friends in Amaranthine in Awakening.


	4. Act III: Anders' Clinic

“It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Anders gave him a hesitant smile, as Nathaniel looked around the Darktown hovel the mage resided in now, and had done for the last seven years. Nathaniel wanted to feel sorry for him.

“We’ve put up in worse places,” the rogue quipped. “Remember Blackmarsh?”

Anders chuckled at the memory. “That was the grimmest camping trip I’d ever been on.”

“Sleeping next to an animated rotting corpse was certainly a highlight.” Nathaniel grimaced.

“He can hear you, you know.” Anders’ lips quirked up in amusement, but it fell from his face quickly. “Nathaniel, I should tell you -”

Nathaniel held up a hand to stop him. “I know about Justice.”

“You - you do?” Anders looked at him with wide eyes, taken aback.

“Carver Hawke has explained it to Commander Mahariel and myself. Why do you think we’re here?”

“To investigate the Primeval Thaig, like you said?” Anders cocked his head to one side, doubtful.

“That fun jaunt into the Deep Roads was a bonus.” The archer waved a dismissive hand. “We’re here for you, Anders.”

“Me?” The apostate stared at him in shock. “Why me?”

“Why? Because we thought you were dead,” Nathaniel spat, frustration boiling under his skin. He began to pace across the clinic, fighting to keep his emotions under control. He didn’t know if he wanted to take Anders by the shoulders and shake sense into him, or kiss him silly. He turned away, mostly to hide his face.

“ _I_ thought you were dead,” the rogue continued, in a hoarse whisper. “I had to come and see for myself.”

“Nate, I… I’m so sorry.” Anders came over to touch him on the shoulder, gingerly, not daring to presume. “When the Templars attacked me… I couldn’t control him. It’s all my fault.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Justice once told us demons were just spirits that had been perverted by their desires. I made our friend a demon, made him Vengeance. He’s not the same Justice we knew back in Amaranthine. You saw what he did in that forest. I panicked, I fled… I thought, they wouldn’t want me back, not after what I did… what I became.”

“You were wrong. The Commander was furious when he found out what Rolan had done. He never sanctioned it. Would’ve killed that bastard snake in the grass if you hadn’t. I would have helped, too.” The rogue gritted his teeth, then took a deep breath to steady himself. “He kept insisting that your body was never recovered, that you had to be out there somewhere. We never gave up looking. And then one day, a new recruit from Kirkwall came to Vigil’s Keep.”

“Of course. Carver.” Anders let out a heavy sigh. “And that’s how you found out I was here.”

“We had to have probable cause to come to Kirkwall, and Carver presented a solution - the Primeval Thaig,” the rogue explained. “It took us a while, to convince the First Warden to commission the expedition. Weisshaupt agreed, but only after the Corypheus business was taken care of.”

The mage crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m very flattered you’d make such an effort for me. But I can’t return to the Wardens. Not now.” Anders looked away, unable to meet Nathaniel’s searching gaze when it came to him for answers. “The situation for mages in Kirkwall is at its most dire. Something terrible is about to happen, and Justice demands I do something about it.”

Confused, Nathaniel’s feet paused. “What do you mean?”

“One of the many crooked Templars here, Ser Karras, let slip to Hawke that Knight-Commander Meredith has sent to Val Royeaux for the Right of Annulment.” Anders had an expression of anguish on his face that Nathaniel wanted to soothe. But he needed answers.

“The Right of Annulment?” Nathaniel pondered. It sounded familiar. “The Commander told me about that. The Ferelden Knight-Commander requested that from the Chantry of Denerim, when the Circle Tower was taken over by blood mages during the Blight. But Commander Mahariel resolved the matter in time, and it was called off.”

“This isn’t like Kinloch Hold, Nathaniel,” insisted Anders. “The Gallows aren’t overrun with abominations and demons like the Tower was. The Templars have no right to do this. Meredith is only petitioning the Divine herself because Grand Cleric Elthina denied her request. And Divine Justinia is far less sympathetic. One of her agents told us she thinks the Kirkwall mages are the ‘worst threat to Thedas since the Qunari invaded’! If she agrees - and it looks like there’s a bloody good chance she might - every mage in the Kirkwall Circle is going to be slaughtered!” Anders shouted, feeling Justice roiling with anger inside him.

“Andraste help us.” The rogue rubbed a hand over his weary face. Anders was beginning to make a point. “I see what you mean by dire.”

“It’s been dire for years. I’ve had to heal the mages who come here after being abused by the Templars.” Anders’ hands were clenched into shaking fists. “Ser Karras is a particularly nasty piece of work, too. Alain told me that Karras threatened to turn him Tranquil if he let slip that Karras had been his chambers.”

Anders winced at the memory of holding the crying boy in his arms. Alain had run away to see him one night, hurt in unimaginable places. He had healed the young mage’s injuries, but there was nothing Anders could do for the wounds of his soul.

“The Templars beat them, and no one bats an eye. They’ve even made Harrowed mages Tranquil. Like…” Anders choked on a sob, and he could feel his eyes pricking hot at the corners with unshed tears. “Like my friend Karl. I had to end his life with my own hands, Nathaniel.”

The rogue had heard of Karl, of course. Anders has told him about his fellow mage before. To lose a lover that way… in Anders’ place, Nathaniel would be baying for blood, determined to rip to shreds the people responsible. His mind showed him a brief glimpse of Anders being made Tranquil in the same way, and his heart almost stopped in fear.

Never had he wanted to take Anders in his arms more. He threw caution to the wind, crossed the room to stand before the mage, and pulled him into his embrace. Anders did not resist, letting Nathaniel hold him close to his chest. He’d needed this. He let out a uneven breath, pressing his face to Nathaniel’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

They stood like that for a long time, until the mage’s breathing had calmed, relaxing in Nathaniel’s arms. Anders had almost forgotten how warm and comforting it was to be here. The rogue always had a formidable, unassailable air about him, and it never failed to steady Anders when he needed an anchor.

“You are the bravest man I know, Anders,” Nathaniel told him in a soft murmur. “You’ve had to shoulder such a great burden, all on your own.” He looked into Anders’ honey amber eyes with his own slate grey ones. “I’m only sorry it’s taken us this long to get here.”

Anders mustered up the courage to hold his gaze, to face him at last. “I’m sorry, too.”

Up close, Nathaniel could see just how much Anders had changed. He was thinner, without the three square meals a day Vigil’s Keep provided, living hand to mouth down here in Darktown. There were dark circles under his eyes, from the long days tending to patients, and the late nights writing his manifesto. He bore lines of weariness on his face that Nathaniel did not remember stroking with his fingertips, years ago.

“The years have not been kind to you, Anders,” Nathaniel said, with a rueful smile.

The mage snorted. “Better than you, old man. Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“I thought we were rather more than that,” the rogue pointed out, his tone a little sardonic.

“We were.” Anders’ eyes were full of regret, as a rush of memories came flooding back.

“We are,” was Nathaniel’s gentle reminder, taking the mage’s hands in his. He had always admired them. Soft palms, long delicate fingers, crackling with electricity… that was how he remembered them. Now, they were calloused, chapped around his brittle nails, rough to the touch.

“Healing refugees is hard work,” was the mage’s sheepish explanation.

“You always did have a heart of gold.” Nathaniel’s expression was fond, as he rubbed a thumb against the back of Anders’ hand. “As much as you tried to pretend otherwise.”

“Nathaniel Howe, you softie.” The apostate’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What, not even the time I was drunk in the Crown and Lion and slapped you on the rear, shouting, ‘Nice arse, mage’?” Nathaniel smirked at his companion.

Anders had forgotten how Nathaniel could smirk with the best of them. It was a look that suited the dashing rogue so well, a look that always made Anders tingle in the best of places.

“Not even that,” laughed Anders. “Maker’s breath, Nate, I’ve missed you so much.”

He raised a hand to touch the other man’s face. How many times had he dreamed of doing this? Now, Nathaniel was here, before him, in the flesh. There were many other things he’d dreamed of doing, as well.

Nathaniel pressed his hand to the back of Anders’ as it cupped his cheek, keeping it there as he leaned into the mage’s touch, into him. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I might be an abomination now,” Anders whispered, sounding tortured. “But I’m still a man. Don’t expect me to resist forever.”

He looked up into those piercing, grey eyes he knew all too well, expecting them to be harsh with rejection, only to find his desire mirrored in them.

“I don’t want you to resist.”

There was a moment of hesitation. Then Anders threw his arms around Nathaniel’s neck, as he surged forward to kiss his lover for the first time in seven years, hard enough to hurt himself on the other’s teeth, but he didn’t care at all. Nathaniel’s arms were firm around his waist as he pulled the mage closer, kissing back fiercely, as though he were drowning, and Anders was his only hope of salvation. It was just like he’d remembered, just like he’d longed for. Soon, they were panting into each other’s mouths, as they parted.

“I thought with Justice… this part of me was over,” Anders muttered, his eyes downcast. “Justice has always liked you, but... he believes you’re a distraction.”

Nathaniel did not let go, arms still wrapped around his lover. “Why does he think that?” he murmured in a low voice, beside the mage’s ear, knowing exactly the effect it would have. Anders shivered, and not from the cold.

“For seven years, I have lain awake every night, aching for you,” Anders confessed in a whisper, staring at his fellow Warden with a tormented expression. It did terrible things to Nathaniel’s heartstrings - and his libido.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Nathaniel tugged Anders closer still, kissing him again, harder so when he felt the mage moan into his mouth with longing. Then, he hoisted the other man up into his arms, bridal-style, ignoring the yelps of protest.

“Nathaniel! What are you doing?”

“Will Justice let me have you for a night?” the rogue said, with a sly grin.

Anders’ cheeks began to tinge pink. “I… I believe that can be arranged. Why?”

“We have pressing matters to deal with,” was Nathaniel’s ominous response.

“I know, I can feeling it pressing against my arse!” Anders replied, sounding almost outraged, if he hadn’t been beet red.

“I’ve been celibate for the last seven years, and I’m bloody sick of it,” Nathaniel growled. “Bedroom?”

Anders pointed towards a shabby wooden door, and the rogue barged through it. It was a near thing he hadn’t just kicked it in, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice's quote about demons is from [party banter in Awakening.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Justice/Dialogue) Anders also quotes it to Hawke after the Chantry boom if you go the rivalry route with him. 
> 
> The details of what the Rolan and the templars did to Anders can be found [in this short story by DA2 writer Jennifer Hepler.](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Anders_\(short_story\))
> 
> [If you talk to Ser Karras in the Gallows at the start of Act III,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Karras) he tells Hawke that Meredith has sent to Val Royeaux for the Right of Annulment. He's also the anti-mage Templar you meet during the Act I quest Act of Mercy who abuses mages.
> 
> [The agent Anders is referring to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLfq6gySl3A) is Sister Nightingale aka Leliana. She appears during Sebastian's companion quest.
> 
> [Alain is the mage you rescue during the Act I quest Act of Mercy,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Alain) and if you talk to him in the Gallows after that he tells you Ser Karras threatened to make him Tranquil if he talked about the Templar coming into his chambers. He also says Kirkwall templars beat the mages but are never reported.


	5. Act III: Anders' Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy, as Isabela would say.

They tumbled onto Anders’ cot, which just about fitted the both of them, as they shucked off and tossed their clothing carelessly behind them. Nathaniel cursed the complexity of his armour, but soon it lay in a messy heap on the floor.

Oh, the blessed familiarity of having Anders beneath him again, at last. This was what he’d had feverish dreams of, on lonely nights with nothing but his hand and the memory of his lover.

Nathaniel’s teeth found Anders’ neck, devouring it with sucking kisses that made the mage gasp, leaving purple bruises blooming across his pale skin. He brushed his fingers through Anders’ hair, something he’d not had the luxury of doing for so long, until its bonds was loose, his golden locks fanned out across his pillow.

“Do you really mean it? You haven’t… all this time?” Anders asked, afraid of the answer, but he need not have been.

“You are a greater fool than I thought, if you think I would seek comfort in the arms of anyone but you,” declared Nathaniel, gazing at him with a frown and wild determination in his eyes.

“I couldn’t either,” Anders told him in a fervent whisper. “Maker knows I’ve wanted you, only you.”

He had thrown himself into his healing work to distract himself, but it hadn’t stopped the pangs of heartache he felt every time Hawke would flirt with him, wishing it was another suave, dark-haired man doing so.

“Do you remember the games we used to play?” Anders breathed, stroking his fingers through the rogue’s dark hair, his smile almost shy.

“Master and servant.” Nathaniel’s grin was wolfish now. “How could I forget?”

“I would dream about that to get myself off,” Anders admitted. “About the things you used to do to me.”

Nathaniel’s grip in the mage’s hair grew that little bit tighter. “Tell me,” he said, in a commanding tone that came to him as naturally as breathing.

“Do you remember the first time? You were ordering me about as usual, and I’d gone ‘oh, yes ser, please ser’, as a joke. And instead of some witty retort, you just glared at me with murder in your eyes. I knew I was in big trouble.” Anders let out a breathless laugh. “Especially when you came up to me after and growled in my ear-”

“‘Upstairs. My room. Now.’,” the archer repeated, in a voice that brooked no argument.

Nathaniel had lusted after mage from afar, never acting on his desires. His experience in the Free Marches had taught him that - repress them, forget they exist. But that had been one jibe too many. He’d pinned the mage against a stone wall in a hallway, trying not to ravish him then and there. The deep sound of his gravelly voice and the hot breath in the mage’s ear had made Anders shudder and gasp. And Nathaniel had wanted more of those noises.

“Then you kissed me. Violently so. I wasn’t about to refuse a command like that.” Anders gave his companion a cheeky smile. “In your room, you ordered me to undress, and I did as I was told, like a good little Warden. You still had all your leathers on. You told me how good I looked, how I’d look even better on my knees for you.” The mage wore a dreamy smile as he reminisced. “And then I said -”

“- ‘My body is yours to use, ser’. Oh, I recall that day well.” The rogue had a grin like a skull. Anders had that same pleading look in his eyes now as he did then, that meant the mage wanted something only Nathaniel could give him. “And is it still?” he murmured, low and dark.

“Yes, ser,” breathed Anders, with a shaky, reverent sigh. He’d ached to say those words for so long, and they felt so good in his mouth. All he wanted was to submit to Nathaniel once again.

“On your knees, then.”

How easy it was, to fall back into old patterns. Anders did as he was told, and on instinct, presented his hands behind his back. Nathaniel smirked as he looped his belt around the mage’s wrists, fastening it. He loved Anders like this, bound and submissive, his back arched in a beautiful curve, kneeling with his thighs wide apart. It was the ultimate sign of trust, as the mage would not be able to conjure spells without the use of his hands.

“Oil?” Nathaniel asked.

“Under the mattress, near the pillow.”

Sure enough, there was a bottle of it there, more than half gone. Anders must have had regular use of it. He moved behind Anders, arms encircling the mage as he mouthed kisses over his neck and shoulders. He trailed a hand down Anders’ bare chest, as it rose and fell with shallow breaths, faster so when the archer’s fingertips brushed against his nipples. Of course, he was still sensitive here. Nathaniel pinched one, rolling it between his fingers, and Anders let out a sweet cry, taut chest heaving as he panted.

“Hard already, are you, Anders?” Nathaniel observed, coolly. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Hard for you, ser,” Anders gasped, as Nathaniel pinched harder, making him squirm beneath the rogue’s grasp.

Nathaniel tangled his fingers in the long, silky strands of blonde hair before him, tugging his head back. Anders let out a desperate whimper. Behind him, the rogue nuzzled at his neck, holding the mage to his chest almost lovingly, and then without warning, sank his teeth into the tender crook of it. Anders let out a soft scream, straining against Nathaniel’s arms, against his bonds. Nathaniel took a moment to admire Anders, all stretched out and exposed for him, particularly the blossoming purple marks forming on the mage’s fair skin.

“Legs wider apart. Let me see you,” Nathaniel demanded.

It was impossible for Anders to hide just how aroused he was like this. The apostate’s inner thighs began shivering, as Nathaniel stroked his hand across them, but the rogue deliberately denied him the touch he craved. Instead, his oiled fingers drifted lower, and Nathaniel heard bitten-off groan when he rubbed them against the mage’s entrance.

“Please, ser,” Anders whispered.

The rogue’s smile was positively wicked. “You can do better than that.”

“Please, fuck me with your fingers,” he tried again, voice hoarse with lust.

“Let me take care of you,” Nathaniel promised, in a deep whisper beside his ear. He slid two fingers into Anders, pressing deep inside him with a touch of roughness, opening him up as only an old lover would know to do. Anders bit his lip to keep from whining aloud with pleasure. He rolled his hips, trying to fuck himself on the archer’s nimble fingers. But a cruel smile played at Nathaniel’s lips as he pulled his fingers out, just as unceremoniously as they’d gone in. He teased Anders’ tight hole instead, dipping his fingertips in and out shallowly. Anders let out a sob, overwhelmed with arousal, writhing against Nathaniel’s hold, but receiving no salvation.

“I can just imagine you here alone, pleasuring yourself with your fingers, wishing it was my cock instead.” Nathaniel’s voice rumbled like thunder in his ear. “Just like when I would make you open yourself up for me. You always did like putting on a show, didn’t you, Anders?”

“Yes, ser,” Anders replied, his breath hitching in his throat. He cried out with relief, as Nathaniel shoved two slick fingers back inside him. His moans were stifled when the rogue pushed more fingers between his lips, coaxing them apart, fucking them in and out of his mouth. Anders curled his tongue around them, sucking at the salt on Nathaniel’s fingertips. It felt so wonderfully familiar, but it wasn’t enough. All he could do was kneel there and be taken as Nathaniel saw fit.

“Oh, I’ve missed those noises,” Nathaniel chuckled darkly. “You used to make the prettiest sounds choking on my cock, Anders.”

Anders could only answer in a whimper. Countless times, he’d had Nathaniel down his throat, in secluded corners of the Keep, in the deserted stables, with the threat of being caught nipping at their heels. He shook his head, and Nathaniel withdrew the fingers from Anders’ mouth to let him speak.

“Please, ser,” Anders breathed. “Please let me suck your cock.”

Nathaniel let go of him, and Anders mourned the loss of his embrace. The archer had moved to lean back against the headboard of his bed, unlacing his breeches. Nathaniel took his cock into his hand, stroking himself as Anders watched hungrily, trying not to drool with anticipation. Oh, Maker, he was hung. It was just as Anders had committed to memory, and he needed it in his mouth right now. Nathaniel leered at him, knowing how badly the apostate desired this.

“Come here, Anders.”

It was a voice that expected to be obeyed, and Anders wanted to, needed to obey. He scrambled to kneel between the rogue’s legs, bowing his head. It was harder to move about, with his hands behind his back, but his lover was there to manhandle him into position, pressing the head of his cock against his lips. Anders swallowed it gratefully, taking it into his mouth whole, sucking hard.

“Maker’s breath, your mouth,” Nathaniel groaned. Ever the gentleman, he held the apostate’s hair back in a firm hand for him, away from his face. “That’s it. You’re doing well, Anders.”

Anders moaned around his thick cock as it filled his mouth in just the right way, lapping up Nathaniel’s praise like rainwater after a drought. Nathaniel thrust his cock deeper into that tight, wet heat, watching it slide between those full lips. After all those sleepless nights fantasising about using that beautiful mouth, it could not compare to the real thing.

“Take all of it,” growled Nathaniel, and dragged the apostate’s head down by his hair, until Anders’ nose was pressed to his belly, nearly choking on his cock. He fucked into the mage’s sinful mouth a little faster, a little deeper, changing the shape of his throat. He knew how Anders loved it, was getting off on it. Nathaniel could feel more than hear Anders whimpering helplessly around his cock, while his own dripped with arousal onto the sheets.

And Maker, the picture Anders made when Nathaniel pulled him off, withdrawing from his mouth. Tears streamed from his eyes as they watered, his lips red and swollen, but he had a blissful grin on his face. Nathaniel hauled him up into his arms for a bruising kiss, and Anders eagerly accepted his reward.

“Did you like that, Anders?” Nathaniel cradled his cheek with one hand, brushing the moisture from his face with a thumb.

“So much, ser,” the mage panted. “I’ve wanted that for so long.”

“And what else have you wanted?” The rogue’s tone was soft, dangerous, and could have been mistaken for tender, but Anders knew better. He looked away, cheeks burning red hot.

“To be at your mercy once again, ser.”

It was an honest answer, and Nathaniel let out a sharp exhale of arousal that told Anders it had been the right answer. The archer gripped Anders’ chin, tilting the apostate’s head up and forcing Anders to look at him.

“Very well. You’ve been so good for me, Anders,” Nathaniel told him, lips brushing over his own, before the rogue kissed him again, savage and deep, and it made Anders melt. He closed his eyes with a soft moan, drinking in his lover’s praise.

With his hands bound behind his back, it was easy to shove Anders down onto his knees again, pressed face first into the pillows. Nathaniel was behind him now, rubbing large, warm hands across his naked back. The pounding in his heart was loud, so loud. Anders knew what was coming, and he could not wait.

“I need you, ser,” Anders pleaded. “Make me yours.”

Nathaniel sank his fingers into the mage’s blonde hair in a cruel grip, dragging his head back, making him cry out. He eased the head of his cock inside Anders, the fingers at his hips coiled tight enough to bruise. The mage made a wounded sound, aching to be filled.

“You were always mine, Anders,” Nathaniel growled. Then, impulsive and sudden, he drove his cock into Anders as deep as he could go, in one vicious thrust.

Anders lost his mind. That first, sharp shock of sweet friction was so good, and he nearly howled from the intensity of it. Anders had almost forgotten Nathaniel’s frightening amount of self-control, as he tormented the mage with heartlessly drawn-out strokes, fucking him slow to the point of madness. The searing pleasure of it was enough to reduce him to tears. He arched his back for more, offering himself to his lover.

“Nathaniel, please,” he moaned weakly.

To his dismay, the rogue stopped altogether. Then, quick as a strike of lightning, the rogue brought his hand down hard on Anders’ arse in one, tight smack. Anders let out a loud gasp, as the pain sent a jolt of arousal straight to his cock, making it twitch, making him tighten reflexively around Nathaniel’s cock.

“You’ve missed letting me use you like this, haven’t you, Anders?” he cooed, mouth by the mage’s ear, teeth nipping at his earlobe.

“So much, ser,” Anders whispered. “Please.”

“Go on,” drawled the rogue. “I do so like hearing you beg.”

Nathaniel struck Anders on the arse again with a sharp crack, harder this time. Anders wailed into the pillow. The rogue let out a deep moan and a breathless laugh, as he felt Anders’ hole clench tight around him again.

“Please, ser,” he implored breathlessly. “Fuck me harder.”

Nathaniel sank his teeth into Anders’ neck, forcing a long, broken cry out of the mage as he sucked an angry, dark bruise where he knew clothes would not hide it, to claim Anders as his own.

“As you wish, Anders,” Nathaniel told him, with a devilish grin. The mage could practically hear it in his words. “But you are not to come until I say so.”

Cruel, beautifully cruel. Anders adored his brand of cruelty. Nathaniel quickened his pace, unrestrained and almost violent, unable to contain his own need now. He fucked Anders with forceful strokes, pounding into him. It was gorgeous, being taken this roughly, being dominated in this manner. It was exactly what Anders had needed, had craved. But his cock was so hard, leaking and neglected.

“May I… may I touch myself?” he panted.

“Let me,” ordered the archer, and Anders could do nothing but allow Nathaniel to wrap his bow-calloused fingers around his cock, stroking him in time with his unforgiving thrusts. It felt so good, and Nathaniel drank in the sound of the mage sobbing with pleasure, for it was music to his ears. Anders was so close, wanted to come so badly, but not without permission.

“Please, ser, I need to come!” Anders begged.

Just one more little push, one more dose of pain. Just one more act of savagery. He lifted his head, baring his neck in a silent plea, and Nathaniel knew.

He hauled the mage’s head up by his hair, making him yelp. Then Nathaniel wound his fingers around his throat, tight enough that he could feel the apostate gasp, as he fucked Anders mercilessly. Anders let out a choked sob. He’d missed that most of all.

“Come for me, Anders,” snarled the rogue, gripping his throat harder, and Anders did not fail to obey.

Anders let out a beautiful, ragged wail as he threw his head back, shuddering violently as he came with Nathaniel’s hands around his throat, harder than he’d done in years. Nathaniel fucked him through his orgasm, and with one last forceful thrust, the rogue gave a strangled groan, as he came inside his lover, clutching him tight to his chest.

It was a while before either of them could move, but Nathaniel withdrew from Anders eventually, making the mage whimper one last time. Then he was eased onto his side, as Nathaniel unbuckled his belt from Anders’ wrists. Sweet relief coursed through his aching arms.

“Are you all right?” the rogue murmured, a look of concern on his face, as he rubbed at the red marks the belt had left in the mage’s skin.

“Never better, love.” Anders gave him a soft smile back. A breath of mana was all it would take to heal himself, but he liked earning his marks, and liked it even more when they were still there next morning.

Anders frowned, as Nathaniel rose from the bed and left his side, but the rogue returned shortly after. Nathaniel, ever the fastidious one, cleaned them up with a rag, as Anders lay there, floating in a pleasant daze. It was the first time in ages his mind had quieted like that, the mage noted fuzzily. Then, he was shifted, as Nathaniel gathered Anders up into his arms, tucking him close to his chest.

“I’ve missed that,” Anders admitted. It had been like a hole in his heart he’d had to live with, all these years.

“So have I.” Nathaniel pressed a kiss to his forehead, as he stroked the mage’s golden hair. “Rest now. I’m here.”

Anders nodded, feeling so safe the other man’s embrace, as drifted off in Nathaniel’s arms.


	6. Act III: The Fade

**He cannot stay,** boomed Justice’s voice throughout the Fade.  **You cannot go with him.**

Anders was once a mere visitor to the mist-filled dreamland. Now, he felt like a stranger in his own home.

“I love him,” Anders insisted aloud, to Justice, to himself. 

**You have given in to sloth. You would stand by while mages are abducted and tortured.** Justice paced like a caged animal before him, back and forth.  **He must go. You have no need of Nathaniel Howe.**

“How would you know what I need?” snapped Anders.

**I am you, Anders. You are Justice.**

Anders was losing his temper, wishing, not for the first time, that he was alone in his own head. “He was here before you!”

**And I will be here long after both of you. All of you.**

* * *

Anders jerked awake all of a sudden, cast out from the Fade, to find he had been crying frustrated tears in his sleep. His quiet sobs did not go unnoticed. Roused from his own slumber, Nathaniel Howe slid firm, strong arms around him, hushing him.

“Shhh. It’s all right.” In the dim light, Anders could see Nathaniel’s storm-grey eyes watching him, intent yet kind, his voice rusty. “I’ve got you.” 

“Nathaniel, I…” Anders started, his voice faltering and dying in his throat. But his fellow Warden held him tight, his other hand trailing down his spine in soothing motions. 

“We can talk in the morning. I promise.” 

Anders clung to him. “Thank you, love.” 

Sleep eluded him that night, but by dawn, he had settled into an uneasy rest.

* * *

Nathaniel was already awake, the next time Anders cracked open one bleary eye. He winced at the weak sunshine filtering into his bedroom. Anders rested his head on the other man’s chest, sighing. He’d sorely missed waking up next to the rogue. If he closed his eyes, it could be another day at Vigil’s Keep, waking up in Nathaniel’s bed after they’d fallen in it together the night before. Those had been simpler times. But alas, he could not pretend forever.

“Good morning, love,” Anders whispered, wrapping an arm around the archer’s waist. Nathaniel smiled, leaning down to brush his lips against the other man’s mouth in a light kiss. Anders giggled when the rogue pressed more kisses to his lovely bruises from the night before, making him shiver. There was a particularly impressive one, high on his neck. Nathaniel had done it on purpose, of course. Everyone would know that the mage was spoken for. Anders could already tell that next time he walked into the Hanged Man, Isabela and Varric would not be letting him live it down.

They lay there, in each other’s arms, until the mage broke the silence.

“I love you, Nathaniel Howe,” Anders said, with a genuine smile and a heartsick sigh, tracing his fingers over the rogue’s face, as though memorising his strong features. “You don’t have to tell me, I know you’re not one to say such things. But… you came all this way for me, and that’s all I need to know.”

Nathaniel shifted onto his side, the better to study the mage’s expression. It was the happiest he’d seen Anders yet, but there was a sorrow in his eyes. 

“Come back with me,” he said, even though he knew what the answer would be. 

“I can’t, Nathaniel.” Anders gave him a tortured look. “You know I can’t.”

“I know. But you can’t give everything to the fight, Anders,” the rogue pointed out, as gently as he could. 

“Someone has to.” Anders sighed, a leaden noise. “I… I just can’t walk away from it all.” The mage would not, could not meet his eyes. 

“Never stopped you before,” muttered Nathaniel, before he could stop himself.

Anders sucked in a sharp inhale. “Low blow, Howe. You know I had no choice.”

“You  _ thought _ you had no choice,” the rogue corrected him. “There is still a place for you in the Grey Wardens, impossible as it seems. You know the Commander. He’d forge a path to the Black City itself to save a friend.”

“Maybe, when all this is over.” Hope was a dangerous thing. Anders gave him a weak smile, knowing how empty his promise was. “I would ask you to stay, but I know you can’t.” 

“I could, for a while, before they miss me,” Nathaniel argued. 

“The longer you stay, the harder it will be to leave, love.” Anders brushed a lock of dark hair out of the archer’s face, knowing his warning would do nothing to deter Nathaniel.

“I know,” Nathaniel grumbled. He would make the most of their precious time, then. “No harm in letting them think I’m stuck in the Deep Roads for another day or two, though.” It would give Carver some time to visit his family as well, pay his respects to his mother. “You and Hawke can come to my rescue later.”

Anders giggled, trailing a hand over the rogue’s broad, furred chest. “Here I always figured you'd be the one coming to spring me from someone's dungeon. I had it all planned. I'd be in the Gallows, templars all around, holding the brand for the Rite of Tranquility. Then you'd burst in and break my chains.” The mage nuzzled at Nathaniel’s neck, his tone slipping into something more seductive. “And then it would be all about the best way to show my gratitude.”

Nathaniel rolled on top of Anders, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “Did it have anything to do with finding another use for those chains?” he asked, in a deep, dark murmur, his mouth teasing the mage’s ear.

Anders shuddered. Oh, Maker, he’d missed this sight - Nathaniel looming over him, his long, black hair loose around his face, wearing a fiendish expression that meant Anders was definitely in for it now.

“You know me so well,” Anders chuckled, before pulling his lover down for a long, hard kiss.


	7. Act IV: Vigil’s Keep

_Dear Nate,_

_By the time you read this, it will be too late. I will have fled with my fellow mages out of Kirkwall._

_All I can say is that I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to help. I did what had to be done. It was them or us._

_For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came. It was nice to be happy again, for a while. For that, I cannot thank you enough._

_I will always love you._

_Anders_

* * *

“He’s done _what?_ ” Commander Mahariel shouted, so loud the seneschal actually flinched.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel Howe sat in the chair before the Commander’s desk, head in his hands. Anders’ letter fell from his hands, rustling to the floor. Nathaniel knew at once that something terrible had happened, when he’d received that ominous letter from his lover. He’d gone straight to the Commander to consult him, and they had been puzzling over the mage’s parting words. Then, Seneschal Varel had come bearing the news, and it all made terrible sense.

“Stroud has sent a report from Kirkwall explaining the situation, Commander,” the seneschal explained, handing it over to his superior. Then Varel excused himself quickly, before the Commander could shout any more. It was rare, but the elf was scary when he was angry.

“Stroud knew he was alive. Of course,” muttered the Commander, studying the sheet of parchment. Stroud had met Anders when he and Hawke had taken Carver to the Orlesian Warden to save the lad’s life. Commander Mahariel read the report, detailing the events of the Chantry explosion, his eyes growing wider and wider with every line of text. When he was finished, he looked up from it, no less enlightened.

“But why? I don’t understand. Why would he do this?” The Dalish elf shook his head. He peered at his companion for answers. “Did he say anything to you?”

Nathaniel finally lifted his head, and looked up at the Commander. “Anders told me Justice had been corrupted when they merged, that he wasn’t the same spirit we knew back then. They’d been angry about the treatment of mages in Kirkwall, angry about the atrocities they faced every day at the hands of Templars.” He closed his eyes, remembering how distraught Anders had been. “And then they found out Knight-Commander Meredith was going to invoke the Right of Annulment. Anders said Justice demanded he do something about it. Otherwise, the entire Kirkwall Circle of Magi would be slain.”

“And they thought _this_ was the solution?” The Warden-Commander waved a hand, wild with exasperation.

“ _‘It’s them or us’_ ”, quoted the rogue. “Perhaps he felt like they had no choice.” He buried his face in his hands again, groaning. “It was my fault, Commander,” Nathaniel said, through gritted teeth. “When Justice was still with us, I was the one who suggested he could possess a living body.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Nathaniel. Anders still agreed to it. They both knew what they were doing,” the Warden-Commander pointed out. He let out a heavy-burdened sigh. “Though possibly not what they were getting themselves into.”

The Commander’s mercury-coloured eyes scanned the report again. “Stroud wants his fellow Warden brought to justice. They’ve been tracking him. Last seen on a ship to Jader, it seems.” Commander Mahariel squeezed his eyes shut tight, like a child wishing away a bad dream. “It is only because we are on good terms with the Free Marches Wardens that Stroud has not reported this to their Warden-Commander. He’s leaving Anders for us to deal with.”

“What will you do?” The rogue gave his superior a hollow stare.

“I’m going to hunt down that bloody apostate, even if I have to summon Andruil herself to help me,” declared the elf, face set in hard, stern lines, fierce determination burning in his eyes. In that moment, the elf was a terrifying force of nature. Nathaniel had seen that look on Commander Mahariel before, when they had done battle with the Mother. “I will do it, even if it takes the entire might of the Dalish!”

“Not the Grey Wardens?” Nathaniel glanced at his comrade with a raised eyebrow.

“Pah!” The Warden-Commander scoffed. “What do the Wardens know about tracking and hunting? This is what my people were born to do.” He laid a hand over his Dalish longbow, given to him by the master craftsman of his clan.  “Besides, I don’t want to involve us in an official capacity, if you know what I mean.” The Commander gave his second a meaningful look. Nathaniel understood.

“I would like to assist, as well.” The rogue coughed. “In a unofficial capacity as well, of course.”

The Dalish elf nodded. “The two people most equipped to find him are here in this very room. Do you have any inkling where he might be headed?”

Nathaniel thought hard. He’d known Anders best, after all. “Somewhere cold. He always did like it cold.”

Anders adored it when it snowed, and seemed to be unaffected by low temperatures, though he did have fire at his fingertips to combat the chill. Nathaniel remembered how the mage would complain so much in summer, despite having the lightest armour. 

Commander Mahariel swept everything on his desk aside. He retrieved a long roll of parchment from a corner, spreading out a massive map of Ferelden across his desk.

“Cold… the Frostback Mountains.” The elf gestured to Western Ferelden on the map.

“You said he was headed to Jader,” Nathaniel pointed out, tapping a finger at a city northwest from Orzammar. Directly to the south lay the mountains. “That would make sense.”

“Somewhere remote to hide… somewhere off the beaten path…” the elf muttered. Then Commander Mahariel let out a long string of Dalish curses, jabbing his finger at a spot west from Redcliffe - the village of Haven.

Of course. How many times had they asked their Warden-Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, to tell them the story of how he’d found the ashes of Andraste herself? How many times had he regaled them with the tale of him and his companions, storming the village of Haven, fighting off mad cultists who believed Andraste would be reborn as a dragon? Anders knew about Haven. It made sense.

When the Hero of Ferelden had left, Haven fallen into disrepair, abandoned by its villagers. Two years ago, Divine Justinia had ordered it to be restored, to give shelter to pilgrims seeking the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Due to its remote location and harsh climate, however, only the most dedicated of Andraste’s followers were willing to make the journey.

“He’s got to be there,” the Commander insisted. “New faces are not unusual, as visitors to the Temple come and go. Perfect place for a person on the run to blend in.”

“Anders probably used that as his cover to obtain passage to Jader.” Pilgrims from the Free Marches often took that route into Ferelden, after all. Nathaniel snorted at the irony.

The elf nodded in agreement. “He won’t be in the village itself. Too risky. But he’ll need supplies, so he won’t be far. Good thing I still remember the area,” he mentioned airily. “Might be a little rusty, but we will manage.”

The rogue was stunned. Evidently, his superior was ready and willing to go the distance for their comrade.

“I… I can’t thank you enough, Commander,” Nathaniel croaked.

“He’s my friend too.” The elf’s grey eyes were dark like a thunderstorm, as he clapped his fellow Warden on the shoulder. “We _will_ find him, Nathaniel. It is only a matter of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a map of Ferelden to help you visualise Anders’ route.


	8. Act IV: Haven

Beyond the graveyard of Haven, far into a little copse of fir trees, sat a tiny hunter’s cabin that had been abandoned when the villagers had fled the place years ago. No one had wanted to stay, not after all that nasty cultist business. Most of them had moved on to Redcliffe, not far to the east.

It was cold enough to warrant a fire this time of year. Anders sat by the hearth, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, stoking it to make his kettle boil faster. He’d found some tea in the village today, and he was eager to have some. It’d been a while since his last cup of tea.

Justice was annoyed, to say the least, that they’d had to hide out in the middle of nowhere. But even he understood that after what they’d done, Anders had to lay low. The Templars were surely after him. Luckily, there were a scant few stationed in the remote village, and he only needed to fetch supplies every once in a while from the village store. To most of Haven’s current inhabitants, he was just a devout hermit.

All of a sudden, there was a knocking at his door. Anders jumped. The snowfall must have masked the sound of his visitors approaching. As quietly as he could, he reached for his staff, which leaned against the wall.

The knocking came again.

“Who is it?” he called gruffly.

“The Dread Wolf himself!” shouted a familiar voice. Anders stared at his wooden front door for much too long. No. It couldn’t be.

This time, the knocking was urgent, impatient. “Open up, or you’ll have a frozen elf on your doorstep!”

Anders hurried to the door and yanked it open. Sure enough, there was an elf on his doorstep, accompanied by a dark-haired rogue. Both of them had impressive longbows upon their backs. The elf was hard to distinguish under piles of fur wrappings, but there was no mistaking who it was.

“Commander?!” Anders goggled at the elf, who did not wait to be invited inside, but barged past him, eager to get into the warm. “How - How did you know I was here?”

The Dalish elf was shrugging off his many layers, crouching by the fire and holding out his stone-cold hands. “I looted every single house when I came through here years ago. I told you he would be here, did I not, Nathaniel?”

Anders spun round. And sure enough, stepping over the threshold was none other than Nathaniel Howe. The rogue was dressed in thick winter armour, though not as extravagantly bundled up as his fellow Warden. Elves were not made for the extreme cold, but Nathaniel bore it just fine.

“Nate,” Anders breathed, dropping his staff. It clattered to the wooden floor. He stood, open-mouthed, paralysed, forgetting to breathe.

Nathaniel stared blankly at the mage for a long minute. Anders braced himself. He thought the rogue might shout, might rail at him, perhaps even hit him. In all honesty, Anders wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. But to his utter shock, the archer muttered “Come here”, and then pulled Anders into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Anders felt his heart ache, felt his throat constrict. Tears burned the corners of his eyes, as they spilled down his cheek. Then, his face crumpled, as the floodgates burst open, and he began to weep.

“I’m sorry,” Anders sobbed. “I’m so sorry… I had to, I didn’t know what else to do…”

Nathaniel said nothing, but continued to hold him. He had never seen Anders like this, and it broke his heart. He held his lover close to his chest, until the mage’s crying calmed, his breathing evened.

“You came for me again,” Anders said with a hiccup, his voice shaky with emotion.

“Don’t be silly, of course I would,” grunted the rogue.

“Nathaniel Howe, you softie.” A tiny smile appeared on the mage’s tear-stained face. “You really do love me.”

“Was that ever in question?” Nathaniel murmured.

It made Anders dissolve into tears again, as they rolled down his face anew. “I don’t deserve you, love. I don’t deserve you at all.”

Nathaniel cupped his wet cheek in his hand, brushing the moisture away with a thumb. “I’m not perfect either.”

Just then, his kettle began to whistle loudly, making Anders jump again. He’d forgotten all about it.

“Sit. I’ll take care of that,” the Commander called, retrieving the kettle. He busied himself with opening cupboard doors and locating mugs for them. No tea pot. Or strainer. Hermits did not expect company, after all. He doled out tea leaves into each mug, pouring hot water over them. It was the best he could do, given the circumstances.

The elf brought the tea back to his companions, who were sitting by the fire, huddled side by side. He sat cross-legged before them, back straight. They sat, sipping with their hands cupped around their steaming mugs.

“Drink,” Theron urged them. “My guardian always made me a cup of tea when I was upset.”

“It’s good to see you again, Commander,” Anders said, a weak smile at his lips. He hadn’t seen Theron since all that trouble with Rolan, seven years ago. There had been no time for goodbyes. The elf had aged remarkably well, as his people tended to do, looking just the same as when Anders had left.

“There is no need to be so formal.” The elf grinned back. “I am not here in my capacity as your superior, Anders, but as your friend. Besides, as much as I wish things could be different, I think you’ve officially been sacked from the Grey Wardens.”

Anders had known this for years, but still, to have the Commander declare it like that was a little heart-wrenching. It had been the happiest time in his life, being a Warden. He’d had friends. He’d found love again, something he had never dreamed possible after losing Karl. He’d had a purpose other than escaping the Circle Tower, and he had been safe from the Templars… for a while.

“I’m sorry things ended the way they did in Amaranthine,” Anders muttered, eyes downcast in shame, staring at the floor. “I never meant to hurt so many people.”

“If anyone ought to be apologising, my friend, it should be me. I was not vigilant enough. I let a Templar infiltrate our ranks.” Theron laid a hand on Anders’ arm, his grey eyes round with sorrow. “I will admit, Alistair’s reign has not been entirely smooth. Even though he gave you his protection the day we met, the Chantry saw fit to defy him, thus allowing a fox into the henhouse.”

Theron sighed heavily, as he took the mage’s hand into his own and squeezed it. “You should never have been hunted in your own home, Anders. For that I cannot beg your forgiveness enough.”

Anders was taken aback. “Theron… I’ve never blamed you what happened. Ever.”

“I do,” the elf muttered under his breath, looking away. “Every day.”

“It’s not your fault, Theron. It was my anger at the Templars that corrupted Justice into Vengeance, when I took him into me,” Anders insisted.

“I’ve thought about that, and I think it might be little more complicated than that.” The elf seemed hypnotised by the crackling fire, his stare contemplative. “You remember Wynne?”

Anders cocked his head to one side. “That senior enchanter? I remember her from the Circle. She was always nice to me.”

“Her circumstances are similar to yours, you know. During our travels, she revealed to me she had a… condition,” finished the elf delicately. “She had been killed in battle with a powerful demon when Uldred and his blood mages took over Kinloch Hold. But a benevolent spirit, Faith, revived her. ”

“Hold on,” Anders spluttered. “She _died?_ A spirit possessed her and brought her back from the dead? How?”

“As a child, she could feel this spirit in the Fade, watching over her, a protective guardian. She believed it wished to give her a second chance to do good in the world. After the spirit resurrected her, it began to weaken, however.  She lived on borrowed time, and she used that time to help me stop the Fifth Blight. I was, and am, very grateful to her.” Theron looked a little misty-eyed, as he reminisced about his companion.

“So she’s technically an abomination,” the mage remarked, amazed. “Like me.”

The elf stared into the fire, pensive. “Her spirit was benevolent, like Justice was. And it never became corrupted.”

“Because she was an even-keeled old lady, and I’m not?” scoffed Anders.

“It’s not just that.” Theron was properly brooding, now. “I think it has to do with the Taint.”

Anders’ eyebrows rose so far up his forehead they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “The Taint?”

“The Taint can turn people into darkspawn. Who’s to say it cannot turn benevolent spirits into demons?” proposed the elf. “Wynne never had it. But you did. Perhaps the corruption within your body has corrupted the spirit as well.”

Nathaniel, who had been mulling over the Commander’s words, spoke up then. “Kristoff's body was already dead, so the Taint might not have affected Justice then. And Carver Hawke did say that when you encountered Corypheus, the Calling affected both you and Justice.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Anders snorted, considering Justice had gone berserk and attacked his friends. The Warden-Commander’s theory was starting to make sense. “So the only way to restore Justice would be to cure the Taint?” hummed the mage thoughtfully. “That’s not possible, though.”

“I have found… rumours, that it might be. They suggest that the Taint could be cured and the Calling prevented.” Then the elf waved his hands as though batting away flies. “But we have more urgent matters to consider.”

Nathaniel leaned back with a sigh. “Like figuring out where the best place in Ferelden to hide a fugitive would be.”

“What… what do you mean?” stuttered Anders.

“You cannot stay in Haven forever, Anders. The Chantry has its eye on this place. The Templar presence here will grow,” Nathaniel pointed out.

“I propose the Brecilian Forest. It would be easy to lose all trace of you in there,” Theron suggested. “Dalish clans have inhabited it for centuries, and _shem_ tend not to venture too deep in. They think it’s haunted. And rightly so.”

“They’d let me stay in there?” Anders fixed his friend with a skeptical look.

“I am on good terms with one of the Keepers, Lanaya, so it would be easy to persuade them to accept your presence in there. They would not say no to the Hero of Ferelden. After all, I had the King grant us the boon of new lands.” The elf looked a little smug. “The Templars could not easily invade such a place, as we would drive them out. And even if they could, it is no small feat to navigate the Forest.”

“There goes my dream of living in the snow-capped mountains, I suppose.” Anders gave them a wry smile. “And I was so looking forward to taking up knitting.”

Nathaniel wore a frown of concern as he asked, “Is it not inhabited by spirits and demons?” He remembered the Commander telling them about his adventures through the Brecilian Forest during the Blight.

“Indeed, it is _setheneran_ \- a land of waking dreams. That did give us some trouble, when I passed through many years ago. But the Grand Oak has granted me and mine safe passage within the Forest,” Theron pointed out. “He might even benefit from your company, Anders. He did seem a little lonely.”

“Make friends with a giant talking tree,” quipped Anders. “Noted.”

“The Forest has seen much bloodshed. It has weakened the Veil, allowing the inhabitants of the Fade to cross over,” the elf pondered. “Which might present an issue to the average mage, but Anders, thankfully, is not the average mage.” Theron laid a hand on the mage’s shoulder, fixing kind, grey eyes on him. “You are a spirit healer at heart, Anders. That is your nature, to heal, to mend, to fix. Who knows, with the help of Justice, you could calm the restless spirits that call the Forest home.”

The Warden-Commander’s words warmed him to his core. He needed to return to what he knew, what he did best. Anders could feel, from that familiar urging deep within, that Justice found this to be a worthy cause.

“That’ll keep us busy,” Anders chuckled.

“You know, many years ago, I met a mad hermit in there,” mused Theron.

Nathaniel snorted. “Something to aspire to, then.”

“You really think this could work, then?” The mage looked unsure.

“I saved you from the Templars once, and by _Mythal_ , I will do it again.” The Dalish elf’s eyes glowed bright with determination.

“Alright, then.” The mage grinned. “But only if you’ll come and visit me.”

Nathaniel’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Well, it’d be a lot easier to see you. The Brecilian Forest is much nearer than Haven from Amaranthine.”

“We should leave as soon as we can, under cover of darkness,” Theron suggested. “Nathaniel, regrettably, cannot come with us. A bigger party will attract more attention, and we have been away from our posts too long as it is. He will return to Vigil’s Keep ahead of me.”

Anders looked around at his meagre collection of belongings. He hadn’t brought much with him when he’d fled Kirkwall. “Won’t take very long to pack up.”

“We can breathe easy once we reach the Hinterlands, past Redcliffe. They belong to my people now. You will be safe among the Dalish by my side, but the less _shem_ I take with me, the better.” Theron stood, galvanised into action, and his companions followed suit. “Let me help with packing, while you say your goodbyes.”

How cruel it was, that their reunion was so brief, but Anders thanked the Maker that they were granted a reunion at all. He had resigned himself to never seeing his lover again, before today.

“I suppose I can’t ask you to write.” Anders managed a small, sad smile, staring at Nathaniel’s feet.

“I could address the letter to ‘Anders, East Brecilian Forest, second left past the tree stump’,” said the rogue, attempting to cheer Anders up, but he still would not look at him.

Nathaniel tugged Anders into his arms and nudged the mage’s chin with his hand, tipping his face up to meet his gaze, to look into those honey-amber eyes he so adored.

“I love you,” Nathaniel told him simply.

The look on Anders’ face alone had been worth the long, torturous journey across Ferelden. His expression lit up with wonder, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Nathaniel…” Anders whispered with a quiet sob. Then he threw his arms around the rogue, pulling Nathaniel in for a deep, fervent kiss that he could pour all his longing into, for he did not know when he would next be able to. Nathaniel kissed back fiercely, clutching his lover tight to him. When they parted at last, Nathaniel pressed their foreheads together, their eyes closed.

“I’ll come to see you,” the rogue insisted. “I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” said Anders, voice hoarse, close to tears. “You’d better keep your promise, Nathaniel Howe.”

Nathaniel took one of the mage’s hands in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Anders’ knuckles.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [David Gaider stated that Anders being merged with Justice may have one of the two effects on his Calling:](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Anders) "One is that the spirit within Anders can affect the level of his corruption, so it may delay or remove the necessity for his Calling altogether. Either that or at some point the corruption within Anders is going to corrupt the spirit." Given his reaction to Corypheus however, it's probably the latter.
> 
> [Theron is foreshadowing:](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_A_Letter_from_the_Hero_of_Ferelden) Later in Inquisition, the Hero of Ferelden is searching for a way to stop the Calling and cure the Taint.
> 
> [Lanaya is Zathrian's first,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Lanaya) and becomes Keeper after he dies in Origins.


	9. Epilogue

“And how are you today, Ser Oak?” Anders called, head craned all the way back to look at the sapient tree. “It’s a lovely day.”

There had been a string of lovely days, of late. The ground was dappled with spots of sunshine, filtering through vast canopies of green leaves. The weather seemed likely to cooperate today - warm, but not muggy - which made a good day for herb collecting. He had been low on elfroot.

“Better for seeing thy kindly face, for thou dost brighten up the place,” rumbled the enormous tree.

Every now and then, Anders would take his lunch - today, cooked potato cakes and some pears, with a flask of tea - and sit with the Grand Oak. The Oak was a great font of wisdom, if only one knew how to listen. And he was always good for a fine chin wag.

Anders leaned against the Grand Oak, and looked around his home. The Forest was much calmer these days. He wouldn’t profess to knowing its every nook and cranny just yet, but he knew his patch like the back of his hand. It had become quite peaceful, compared to when he'd first arrived. Anders hummed a jaunty tune, as he unpacked his lunch.

The sylvan leaned down for a closer look at the mage. “Happiness has made you sing with glee… tell me, what has made thy heart so free?”

Anders chuckled. “Might be having a visitor soon,” he told the tree. “An old friend. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“The one that you so sorely miss,” recalled the Grand Oak, for Anders had told him about this particular old friend before. “Perhaps you are longing for true love’s kiss?” It nudged Anders playfully, and the mage laughed.

“Cheeky! Yes, it’s him.” Anders smiled to himself, munching on a potato cake. “He should be here any day now.”

A look of concern spread across the Grand Oak’s ancient features. “Thy friend should tread lightly into the Forest’s heart, lest the elves see fit to rip him apart.”

Worry crossed Anders’ face. “The Warden-Commander said he’d sort that out…”

Out of nowhere, they both heard a large crash. They looked at each other. Then came shouting. The mage leapt to his feet. The Grand Oak, tall as he was, gazed in the direction of the commotion, and could see all.

“Run, mage, for it is thy friend!” the Oak boomed. “Hurry, be quick, or he may meet his end.”

“Thank you!” Anders called behind him, as he took off, dashing down the hill.

* * *

“Who are you?” demanded the female Dalish elf, as she and her fellow guard aimed their arrows at Nathaniel Howe, who was currently on the ground. He’d dropped all his weapons (one longbow, two daggers) on the floor, raising his empty hands as a show of goodwill, but it did not seem to be working.

“My name is Nathaniel Howe. I come here with the blessing of Warden-Commander Mahariel.” He gave them his Grey Warden crest.

“The Griffons of Mahariel,” the Dalish hunter muttered, turning it over in her hands. They had been instructed to let anyone bearing this symbol to pass. But the elves were not convinced.

“You could have appropriated this from anywhere,” the other guard pointed out, scowling. “What do you seek in our forest, _shem_?”

“Here to visit a friend, that’s all,” Nathaniel tried in his most placating tone. “A man, with long blonde hair, and a beard. Have you seen him?”

Unfortunately, the elves seemed to take great offence to this, and raised their bows again. “What business do you have with _Era’elgar_?” growled the female hunter closer to him.

That must be what they were calling Anders these days. “He’s my friend,” explained Nathaniel, as calmly as he could with two arrows inches away from his head. “I’m just here to see him.”

“Many  _shem_  have tried to seek  _Era’elgar_ , and they have all failed,” hissed the Dalish woman. “If you wish him harm, you will not live to see another day!”

“I don’t wish him any-”

From quite a distance, all three of them heard faint, erratic shouting. Nathaniel couldn’t quite make out what it was, as he glanced in the direction of the sound. Then he saw a man in loose robes, a mage's staff upon his back, running down the path towards them.

“Stop!” the man hollered, frantically waving his hands in the air. “Don’t hurt him!”

The man caught up to them at last, hunched over with his hands on his knees, wheezing.

“Don’t - he - my friend -” gasped the mage, trying to catch his breath.

“ _Era’elgar_ ,” the Dalish elf greeted him with a nod. “This _shem_ was telling the truth, then?”

“Yes!” panted the blonde man. “He’s my friend, he’s come to see me.”

Only then did they lay down their weapons. The hunter allowed Nathaniel to get to his feet. “Be grateful _Era’elgar_ has asked us to stay our hand, or we would have slit your throat.”

“Well, thank you for not doing that, Gheyna.” The mage sighed with relief. “Could you please let Keeper Lanaya know about our visitor? Oh, and tell her I will have her poultices ready soon.”

“Very well.” The female hunter gestured to her companion to follow. “Come along, Cammen.”

Once the elves were out of earshot, Nathaniel murmured to his friend, “And here I thought Velanna was a handful.”

“Oh, they’re lovely people when you get to know them.” Anders waved a hand at the hunters’ retreating backs. “Come, I’ll show you my quaint forest abode.”

The rogue took Anders’ hand in his, making the mage’s face light up, as they walked down the forest path together.

“What were they calling you?” Nathaniel asked, puzzled.

“It’s Dalish for ‘spirit mage’,” chuckled Anders. “Since I am the vessel of a spirit and all. _Era’elgar_ the _somniari_ , Fade walker at your service.” The mage gave a little bow. “It comes in handy quite a lot around here, as you can imagine.”

“You’ve really made a name for yourself.” Nathaniel grinned, as they continued to stroll back to Anders’ cottage.

“They do seem to like me, yes. As opposed to just tolerating my presence, when I first arrived. I help them out, where I can,” Anders explained. “You know, brewing healing salves for their hunters, chasing demons away from their hunting grounds, that sort of thing. And I’ve learned so much about herbalism from them!”

“Are you still being hunted?” Nathaniel frowned, recalling what the female elf had said.

“Oh, the Templars never get very far. The Dalish won’t let them.” Anders flapped a dismissive hand. “They’ve become quite protective of me now, hence their less-than-friendly welcome. I owe the Commander a lot, for making the introductions. How is he?”

“Off with that Antivan husband of his, following some leads about preventing the Calling. Supposedly, there was a Grey Warden before who’d done it. He’s bit obsessed with it. You know how he gets when he’s got his heart set on something.” Nathaniel shook his head in fond exasperation. “He’s left Vigil’s Keep to me for the foreseeable future.”

“I couldn’t think of a better man at the head of the Grey Wardens,” Anders said, beaming with pride at his companion, as he led him into a small cottage in the heart of the forest.

It was like a witch’s house, straight of a storybook, Nathaniel thought, gazing around as he stepped inside. It smelled like sandalwood and cinnamon, with bunches of dried herbs and flowers hanging by the window. A little round dining table was covered in stacks of books, sheets of parchment scribbled with notes and charts and diagrams littering its surface. Next to them sat a candlestick, the candle nearly burned all the way down. There were shelves everywhere, covered in bottles of all shapes and sizes, some half-filled with potions and tinctures. A little cauldron bubbled away in the fireplace, where a busy, crackling fire had been lit. And in the far corner, sat a cosy little bed, a quilt heaped upon on it.

“Athras made me that, after I’d helped one of his young hunters with a nasty case of spirit possession. The Dalish repay debts generously, if you expect nothing as a reward.” Anders smiled, as he watched Nathaniel run his fingers over it.

“Very wise,” murmured Nathaniel. He stepped towards the mage, slipping his arms around Anders’ waist. Lost in those warm, amber eyes, Nathaniel brushed his fingers over Anders’ cheek, then let his hand slide to cup the back of Anders’ neck as he pulled the mage in for a kiss. He could feel more than see Anders’ lips curve into a grin. Anders wound his arms round the rogue’s neck, kissing back happily, and letting out breathless laughter when they pulled apart.

“It’s so good to see you, love,” Anders breathed, his eyes shining with happiness. “I’ve missed you.”

“So have I.” Nathaniel gave him one last peck on the cheek, before he walked over to retrieve his knapsack. “And I’ve brought someone else who’s missed you as well.”

Anders’ eyes widened with surprise, then shock, then recognition, as Nathaniel bent to open his knapsack, and from within its depths, pulled out a ginger tabby cat.

“Is that… no… Pounce?!” Anders cried. He kneeled on the floor, and the cat leapt into his arms, meowing.

“He still knows you, after all this time.” Nathaniel laughed. “I made a detour to Amaranthine to get him from Delilah.”

Pounce was butting his head into the mage’s face, purring so loudly Nathaniel could hear it across the room. Anders, eyes wet with unshed tears, was busy smooching his cat’s face, over and over.

“I thought I’d never see you again, Ser Pounce-a-lot! Did you miss your daddy?” Anders cooed, in that voice only reserved for his precious pet. “Look at how big you’ve gotten! A big boy!”

“You’ve got a proper witch’s cottage in the woods now. Complete with familiar.” Nathaniel grinned.

Anders walked toward the rogue, bouncing Pounce in his arms like a newborn baby. “I will express my gratitude more thoroughly later,” he said with a wink, leaning over to press a kiss to Nathaniel’s cheek.

“Just make sure the cat isn’t watching while you do that,” the rogue warned.

Outraged, Anders replied, “Of course not! I wouldn’t subject Ser Pounce-a-lot to such filth.”

“There’s going to be filth later then, eh?” the rogue murmured darkly, smirking. “That’s promising.”

Anders shuddered. “Nathaniel Howe, you terrible, terrible man.” Then, distracted by something in his peripheral version, he called, “Pounce, no, those papers aren’t for playing with!” The mage darted forward to shoo the cat off his table, rescuing his notes from Pounce’s devious little paws.

“I’ve been researching a way to reverse Tranquility,” Anders told his companion. “I think I’ve almost got it. I nearly did it once, you see, with Karl…” The mage’s smile was tinged with sadness. “After he was made Tranquil, Justice was summoned, and somehow, Karl returned to us briefly… It’s got something to do with spirits from the Fade, I know it. We’re so close to figuring it out!” Anders waved his notes around wildly.

Nathaniel smiled. It was nice to see Anders so excited about something. “Justice approves, then?” he asked.

“Well, we are still helping mages, just in a more academic fashion. Justice and I are uniquely equipped to study this, and he’s been providing fascinating perspectives on the Fade,” reasoned Anders. “Being made Tranquil, it’s a horrible thing to do to a mage. And so many of them were wrongly made Tranquil back in Kirkwall. If we succeed, the Templars wouldn’t be able to hold it over our heads as a way to oppress us.”

Nathaniel picked up a sheet of parchment out of curiosity, but it was full of scholarly magical theory and jargon. It was quite impressive, nevertheless. “If it truly could be reversed, it would be revolutionary.”

“I just want us to be free,” Anders said, softly. “And I want to right my wrongs.” His expression grew strained. He looked away from the rogue, his face suffused with guilt. “Do you… do you think you could ever forgive me, for what I did?”

The rogue let out a heavy exhale. “I know you did what you had to do, at the time. I can’t say I approve of your methods… But in the end, the Circle mages were able to flee Kirkwall, instead of being slaughtered in their beds.”

“I wish it had not come to that,” muttered Anders, shaking his head. “But I’ve found another way to aid in our fight for freedom. And I’m helping people again, using my magic. For the first time in a long time… I think I might be happy, Nathaniel.” Anders gazed around his new home, as a serene smile spread across his face.

Half a year had passed, before Nathaniel had been able to visit, and in that time, Anders had certainly changed. The dark circles around his eyes were gone, and so was the hollowness in them. The mage looked like he’d been eating better, his face much less gaunt than before. It was a far cry from the Anders Nathaniel had met in Darktown, all that time ago. Now, he looked content, healthy, at ease. It lightened Nathaniel’s heart too, to see Anders passionate about the plight of mages in a way that gave him hope, instead of miring him in despair. Anders seemed to have purpose again, something to live for, to strive towards.

“I’m glad you’ve found a place to call home.” Nathaniel took the mage into his arms, and kissed him on the forehead. “I do admire your dedication to the cause.”

“That’s not all you seem to be admiring,” Anders remarked sardonically.

Nathaniel withdrew his hands from where they had been creeping down Anders’ lower back. “I apologise.”

The mage smirked. “I didn’t say stop.”

Nathaniel let his hands wander then, tugging Anders closer to the rogue’s broad chest. The mage leaned in to kiss his lover, but this time it was wanton, rather than tender. Nathaniel responded with a groan of longing, as he felt Anders’ wicked tongue slip past his lips to tease his own. He slipped his fingers around the back of Anders’ neck, as they pulled apart.

“I believe I am owed some gratitude,” Nathaniel said, in a deep, dark purr beside the mage’s ear. “Go let the cat out, Anders.”

“Ooh, yes ser.” Anders felt a delicious shiver run up his spine. It made Nathaniel grin like a wolf.

“Come on, kitty, Daddy’s got important things to do now.” The mage shooed his cat to the door. Pounce, keen to explore his new world, trotted outside quite readily.

Anders shut the door, turning back to Nathaniel, the man he so loved. He took the rogue’s hand, leading him over to the bed with a playful smile, laughing as he fell back onto it. Nathaniel followed, climbing onto the bed and straddling the mage. Anders bit his lip and tried not to cross his legs when a truly sinful smirk began play at Nathaniel’s mouth.

“Now…" Nathaniel growled, tracing a finger over the mage's full lips. "Where were we?”

* * *

The Templars never did find the apostate Anders. There were rumours, of course, scattered across Ferelden and beyond, that placed him in the Anderfels, the Free Marches, Seheron, Minrathous, and the Brecilian Forest - sometimes in two places at once. This was helped in part by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, who was traveling all across Thedas with his husband, Zevran Mahariel, making the two of them well-placed to start rumours of their own. _Era’elgar,_ as Anders came to be remembered by the Dalish, was revered by them as an accomplished healer and dreamer, and in time, he came to be protected as one of their own.

And, years later, when the Divine Victoria takes the Sunburst Throne and issues her decrees, Nathaniel Howe leaps onto the fastest steed in Vigil’s Keep, and rides without stopping to the Brecilian Forest, to bring his love the news that he has been fighting to hear for so long. Anders, who had not been expecting Nathaniel at all, falls to his knees and weeps when he hears that the Divine Victoria has declared an end to the Circle of Magi, and that mages were free to govern themselves. Better still, he hears that Grand Enchanter Fiona has reformed the College of Enchanters as a new order, and who better to present all his research on the Rite of Tranquility to than they?

But that could wait, of course. For now, the news is enough to fill his heart to bursting with joy. Nathaniel gathers Anders up in his arms and swings him around in celebration, while Anders laughs through happy tears, for at last the two could be together, and there would be no templars to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Gheyna](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Gheyna) and [Cammen](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Cammen) are the Dalish elf couple that you find in the Brecilian Forest Dalish camp in Origins.
> 
> [Era'elgar is the elvhen word for a vessel of a spirit (such as Wynne or Anders).](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7826972) Era means mage, and elgar means spirit.
> 
> [A somniari is a dreamer,](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Dreamer) a mage capable of entering the Fade at will, without the aid of lyrium or blood magic.
> 
> The last line of the fic is based on romanced Anders saying "Ten years - a hundred years from now - someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, Bioware should pay me, because I patched up about half a dozen plot holes in this fic with plausible explanations, including:
> 
> \- why Anders sounds posh now  
> \- how Ferelden Wardens got to Kirkwall  
> \- why they couldn't help during the Qunari invasion  
> \- why they wanted investigate the Primeval Thaig  
> \- why they only decided to do it 6 years later  
> \- why they asked Bartrand, not Varric or Hawke, for help  
> \- how Delilah Howe comes to be in Kirkwall to ask Hawke for help  
> \- why Zevran, King Alistair, AND Nathaniel Howe are in Kirkwall at the same time  
> \- why Nathaniel recognises Hawke in the Deep Roads  
> \- most importantly, why Anders had no choice but to do something drastic  
> \- what happens to Anders after Dragon Age 2, because nobody, not even Varric knows  
> \- and more, probably.
> 
> A lot of research went into this to make it happen!


End file.
